


Reveries

by Sylvanius



Series: Drabble Collections [2]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Anthology, Drabble Collection, F/M, Friendship/Love, Romance, short scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 12,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvanius/pseuds/Sylvanius
Summary: So many paths, so many journeys. So many ways to find one another.Collection of prompt-driven shorts focusing on Daine and Numair as they navigate shared moments. Each entry stands alone and is not connected to one another. Mix of genres, and canon-compliant and au-based.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín & Veralidaine Sarrasri, Numair Salmalín/Veralidaine Sarrasri
Series: Drabble Collections [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749298
Comments: 69
Kudos: 49





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> The following is a collection of prompt-based drabbles to explore different concepts in short scenes. I'm always open to (and pleased to receive!) constructive criticism so please comment if you're so inclined. If you read a scene that you are interested in seeing expanded, please leave a comment! Thank you for reading!

She opened her door and turned to lean against the frame. She tried to stifle a yawn, failing, and smiled at him. “Goodnight, Numair.” The barracks were quiet, most occupants fast asleep after long hours in the sun, and their only company were the fireflies that languished with them in the warm summer air. She lingered, hand clutching the frame, as she watched him.

He studied her, the way her eyes focused on him despite her fatigue and the way her fingers traced circles against the frame—wondering what they would feel like tracing circles on his skin. He licked his lips, two paths on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want the night to end, but if it had to he wanted it to be with her by his side come sunrise. He spoke the second, well traveled road instead. “Goodnight, Daine.” He was already moving away when he heard her door close. 


	2. Bathrobe

“Daine,” a familiar tenor voice roused her. She sat up, startled, and water splashed over the edge of the basin. Her hair stuck to the side of her face in tendrils as she sputtered, gathering her bearings. 

Numair hushed her, “easy. And you said you weren’t tired,” he laughed. When she looked at him he was facing away, eyes glued firmly on the ceiling. He was smirking, but a blush crept its way up his neck. 

As the sleepy haze cleared from her mind she pulled her arms around herself. “Odd’s Bobs!” The bathwater was cold, and the fire had dwindled low enough that it did little to help. All her insistence that she was fine and she had fallen asleep mid-bath. 

“Please don’t make me explain to any of our friends that you survived killer unicorns only to drown in your bathwater. Especially not Alanna; she rarely reacts well to bad news and I don’t do well with physical violence.” He stood and fetched a towel from the nearby stand, unfurling it and holding it out in front of him. His eyes continued to focus firmly on anything and everything but her. She sighed, wanting to argue but about what she wasn’t sure. She clutched the edge of the basin and pushed herself up. Dizziness struck her as she rose, and she faltered. Before there was a chance of her falling, she felt strong arms wrap around her to hold her steady. She leaned against him, wrapped tightly in the towel, as he steadied her. 

“Let’s get you to bed; it’s been a long day.” 


	3. Fall

Applause echoed in the chamber as the players took their mark, bowing in unison. He clapped, politely enough, and turned his head to Daine. “What did you think?” He had to raise his voice to reach her. 

She was clapping, but he had seen her yawn before the first act was through. She leaned towards him so that she need not yell. 

“So which is it, do you think?

He cocked his head, not following, and she smiled and motioned towards the stage, “Falling in love. Is it agony or ecstasy?”

He paused, thinking over his response, and gave a small shrug, “the best of both, I suppose.” 


	4. Ribbon

She responded, sinking into him and arching her back. He should pull back, he knew, but she pressed herself against him and he was helpless. Hopeless. 

For all of the fight he’d put up for so many years, surrender came so easily now. 

They were supposed to be somewhere, he was sure. Somewhere else. Anywhere but there —sunk into that dark corner where vines and shadows both reached for them like he reached for her. She broke away, long enough for him to consider reigning himself in but not so long that he tried. Her lips were on his again in less than a heartbeat—they came so unsteady in that moment—and her hands gripped at his robe as she pulled him to her. Closer, closer; was there ever such a thing as close enough? Not yet. His hands threaded through her hair, pulling the carefully pinned curls and feeling the ribbon that secured them unravel, and deepened the kiss. 


	5. Drive

“Mouse manner. There’s no one for miles; why not just enjoy being warm?” She looked back at him over her shoulder. His gaze ran along her neck, and shoulders, and down to where her back disappeared into the milky water. All bare, all smooth, all tantalizing.

She laughed when he hesitated and turned away —her curls fell from their pinning and disturbed the steam rising around her. He looked up, taking a deep breath and watching the snowflakes as they fluttered towards him. He’d always found the sight dizzying, like it would knock him off balance. When he looked back she was facing him, sunk low in the water so that only her eyes peeked above the surface. Eyes that looked at him in a way that drove him to forego all the promises he had made to himself. 


	6. Confession

“Magelet, wake up,” he murmured, shaking her gently. She stirred and looked up from him where she lay on his settee, nestled in a pile of curls, books, and dragons. “It’s late; you should go to your own rooms.”

“I don’t want to.”


	7. (First) Kiss

“Hush, if we’re to be convincing as a couple we need to be able to look the part.” 

“I’m sure we’ll manage when the time comes —”

“You’re redder than a Beltane fire, Numair.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” 

“Barely. Are you always so nervous kissing someone new?”

“This is different.”

“Well, I know I’m not your usual type but surely you’ll suffer through it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what’s so different when it’s me you’re kissing?”

“Just come here.”


	8. Alcohol

Their first kiss wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be sweet, and tender, and romantic. The kind of kiss you would see in a play, and _not_ one that premiered by the docks to bawdy laughter and and a watchful provost. It was supposed to be perfect. Certainly not clumsy, and tasting of whiskey. He said as much when he pulled back, dropping his forehead against her shoulder as his head swam with drink, or shame—maybe both.

She rubbed his back, hushing him, “there’s always tomorrow.”


	9. Stairs

Floorboards creaked underfoot as he rose. He groaned, moving upwards at a steady, spiraling pace. Usually he enjoyed having his rooms at the top of the tower —particularly when it allowed him to watch the stars from the comfort of his bed—but on nights like this, when he’d lingered in his workshop until the point of exhaustion, the climb vexed him. 

Each floor passed like a check-mark. Servants quarters—he really needed to hire someone—kitchen, common areas, library. He passed by each one quickly, dragging his tired body upwards and ignoring the burning beginning to settle in his thighs. Relief came into focus when he reached the floor under his own. Almost there. He paused, resting his hand against her door. It was no more than a heartbeat, but it was a necessary habit. Or a ritual; one without sacrifice, he hoped. With a soft sigh he drew his hand away and continued upwards. 


	10. Apology

The door swung open and Numair jumped to his feet, folding his book under his arm. He had wanted to ask her how her debriefing had gone but she had stalked down the hallway so quickly he hadn’t had the chance. He watched her go, noticing the chattering of birds outside had increased dramatically. 

Alanna exited the room, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms. 

“What happened?” He stepped closer, keeping his voice low. With their flight from Carthak behind him, the possible ramifications she may face had been on his mind. 

“Here I was, steeling myself for the royal rebuke of Jon’s reign,” she broke into a grin, “only for  _ him _ to receive the most thorough lashing I have ever witnessed. I’m a little put out; I think _I_ may have held that honor up until now.” Her expression left no doubt that she had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. 

“About  _ what _ ?” He struggled to find words, concerned that he should go after her. 

“ _You_ ,” she laughed. “For sending you back to Carthak. I think she’s fair fond of you.” 

“It’s mutual.” He didn’t want to let on how touched he was. 

“I know. So does Carthak,” Alanna snorted. “The best part is it all ended with _him_ apologizing. One  little lecture from a wee lass —” 

“That wee lass is the talk of the Eastern and Southern Lands,” Duke Gareth the Elder appeared next to the Champion, looking vexed. “And that _little lecture_ could be considered treasonous in less forgiving circles.” He shook his head, shooting a look at Numair. “Here I’ve been thinking that you would be a bad influence, and now I’m not sure which way it goes. Come. We still need your account and I’d like to be done with this sooner than later.” He swept back into the room and Alanna shot Numair a look of mock admonishment. 

Alanna addressed Numair as they followed. “If you’d like to yell at him for anything, I think now’s your best chance. He’s probably still feeling nice and mollified.”

“I can hear you, Alanna,” Jon sighed, watching her from his desk where he rested his head against his hand. He looked tired.

“You were meant to.” 


	11. Rings

“That’s pretty,” Daine pointed to a ring resting in a jeweler’s display as they passed. 

“Sapphire’s,” he smiled as he leaned in to inspect it. 

“Of course.” 

“Look, it has a mate.” He pointed to where a larger ring sat, forged from the same metal and inlaid with the same design. He turned, noting her blush, and tweaked her nose. “If you like them we should get them.” He couldn’t help but tease her. 

“Numair —” he knew there was the beginning of a familiar conversation on the tip of her tongue. 

“For when you’re ready,” he cut her off, but gently. 

She bit her lip and leaned in to inspect the set more closely. “It  _ is _ good practice to be prepared.”


	12. Candle

Numair brought his book closer to his face, squinting in the waning light to make out the text. He sighed, dropping it to his lap, and regarded the candle —or what was left of it. The stub held on just enough to not extinguish, but should have been changed nearly an hour ago. He looked down to where Daine rested against his shoulder, breathing deep and her own book having long fallen to the wayside. 

He’d procrastinated changing it so that he could delay waking her, but he now knew he had reached the inevitable. He pulled his arm from under her, wincing at th e pins and needles that spread through it, and wrapped it around her to sit her up straight. To his surprise she didn’t wake, but turned into the settee with a groan and settled once more. Taking stock, he pulled away gently and decided to find a new candle. He could do with some more reading. 


	13. Grave

He dismounted, patting Spots, and followed her. His feet sank into the muddy earth below him as they traveled the path —barely more than a game trail. They’d been home-bound from Cría when she’d paused, their mounts stopping with her and nearly unseating him, and asked if they could take a detour. 

Something about her demeanor unsettled him and so he agreed without question. She’d been quiet as they rode through the winding, unkempt hill roads and she had yet to speak. He let her take the lead, hanging back. He was used to her leading with unknown purpose, navigating wilderness with a sure foot. This was different, though. She didn’t pause to cock her head, listening to the direction of the people. She walked forward with purpose, like her feet knew this road. 

Their mounts followed, as somber as their leader. He looked back to see Cloud thrashing her tail in a way he had learned the hard way meant she was anxious. He turned back to see that she had stopped in the road in front of an area of overgrowth spilling over from the forest. 

“I didn’t know we were so close.” He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself. He studied her, brows knit, and looked back at the overgrowth. It took him a moment before he saw it. The first story of a home could be seen through the roots and vines that grasped at it. The tops of what timbers remained were charred and blackened until they vanished. His stomach sank. 

She moved forward, stepping carefully along a path that had long since disintegrated. He followed again, far enough to show respect but close enough that she wouldn’t be without him. They moved around the perimeter of the ruined home, stepping carefully over the tangled debris where the Eastern wall had collapsed. He reached out to offer a hand when she climbed over the remains of the chimney but she scaled it easily and it was he who scrambled gracelessly. He heard Cloud snort from behind them, unable to follow. Daine stopped behind the house, knee deep in thicket. He could see a fence-post, at least one, and beyond it what looked like the sun-bleached colors of a homespun target peeking from a raspberry bush. 

She was scanning the ground and he wondered if he should ask what she needed. Wondered what he could possibly give. Her jaw was clenched and her fingers twisted around the hem of her tunic. With a deep breath she pointed to the earth near the fence post, “Granda is there. Where he taught me to shoot my first bow.” Her lip trembled. “Ma is next to him. She used to bring a chair out and do her work while we practiced. She thought it was unladylike —but needful.” 

She moved as she spoke, pointing out areas in the yard. “The animals—the pig, chickens—they’re along there. Cloud’s family is there, or—” she paused, tears threatening to fall as she looked between two areas, “maybe there. Gods, you’d think I’d remember. They took so long to bury.” He had to strain to hear the last part. 

She turned to him and he fought the urge to sweep her into a hug. He didn’t, though. He knew what it felt like to need permission to grieve. “I tried to mark them but,” her voice broke and she shook her head, looking away. “I didn’t have much.” 

“We have time now,” he closed the distance between them, placing a hand on her shoulder as black fire gathered around the brush and began to gently push it back. 


	14. Danger

The threat was thinly veiled. Sloppy more than bold. Numair smiled pleasantly at the other mage and rose his glass in a toast —playing the fool. Best let them think  _ they _ were the ones laying a trap. He looked at Daine, who had glanced at the mage under the pretense of asking for a dish to be passed. She was smiling and he, perhaps more than anyone, understood just how distracting that could be. Her eyes, though. There was glint in them even he rarely saw. Something that brought him back to sidestepping flame and the smell of charred bone. The lesser mage continued on, unaware that empires had fallen for little more. 


	15. Blanket

He rubbed his hands together, breathing into them as they shook. Cold nights like this offered such good conditions for watching the stars, but decidedly bad ones for his own well-being. He heard her settle behind him. Based on the chatter of bats as they flew overhead she was deep in conversation. 

He searched the riverbed for suitable stones , scuffing away fallen leaves with his boot to clear the way. He’d need several —the size of a fist and smooth, preferably—to create a warming circle for them. 

“It’s  _ freezing _ , Numair.” He heard the urging in her voice and turned back to tell her he was looking only to see her beckoning him with the blanket she had wrapped around herself, stretched out in one arm. He paused, looking between her and the riverbed, before returning to her.

“Scoot over, my legs are longer than yours.” 


	16. Fear

“I wish you had consulted me.” Numair tapped the rim of his glass, watching the way firelight settled against the dark liquid within. 

George sighed, “I know you are close but, to be honest, it didn’t concern you. You're a good team, but she’s more than independent and you won’t always be needed in the same place.” 

“Being needed elsewhere is one thing, but you know how dangerous this work is.” He gripped the glass, jaw clenched. 

“More than anyone. That’s why I sent someone I knew could handle it.” There was just a hint of steel in his voice. Just a hint usually went a long way for someone who was almost always genial. Usually. “Numair, the fact of the matter is her abilities give her unparalleled access. We’d never be able to get someone else in there. It’s too remote.” 

Numair sighed, shaking his head. “George, we’ve known each a long time now and I’ve trusted you with a lot. You know how valuable our friendship is to me, right?”

“Of course,” the older man’s voice softened. “As yours does me.”

“Good,” Numair downed his drink and set the glass on the table with a _clink_ as he rose, “because I want you to be very aware of that fact when I tell you that if she dies alone I will hold you personally responsible.”


	17. Letter

“If we wait until Fall —” Alanna paused, looking up as a page appeared on the rampart. Numair stood to his full height, rolling up the scroll they had been studying. The ocean-breeze whipped around them as the page approached with downcast eyes. Bad news, perhaps. 

“M’lady,” he bowed, “letters for you.” Just nerves, then. 

“Thank you,” Alanna took the small pile and waved him away. Numair interjected and the page stumbled, having been caught mid-escape. 

“Has anything been received for me? Numair Salmalin,” he elaborated, not sure if he had met this one. 

“I don’t believe so, sir.” The boy shook his head, seeming unsure of how to address him, before taking his leave. 

Numair sighed, leaning back against the wall and unraveling the scroll once more.

“She’ll write.”

“I know.” 


	18. Bullet

“Daine,” he made sure to make noise as he approached, knowing enough not to surprise someone who was armed. A lesson learned the hard way, unfortunately. 

She didn’t look at him. Wind picked up the dead leaves, whipping them about the training grounds, to add to the drizzle that had been hovering over the fief all day. Daine loaded another bolt into the crossbow, taking aim. In less than the time it took for him to take a breath she released and the bolt struck it’s target true, despite the wind. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, quietly, as he leaned against the barrel and picked up a bolt to hand her. She ignored his offer, picking up another instead. 

“Do  _ you _ ?” She met his eye easily enough, all challenge and anger. Some hurt, he realized. He was hurting too. 

“Not that,” he sighed and dropped the bolt. She released again, and the arrow nestled next to her first —buried deep in the heart of the dummy. “But about what you’re feeling, always.” 

“Then no.” Her jaw clenched, chin jutting out. He watched as she took two more shots. They landed close together, in a way he knew meant they’d likely have to patch the target. 

“Daine, I just need some time **—** ”

“No,” she lowered the crossbow, still loaded, and shook her head. “We’ve been dancing around this for years. I’m out of steps to take.” She turned to him. He knew that look. She'd reached a decision of some sort; the kind you don't turn back from. 

“I’m leaving at the end of the week,” she looked away. She unloaded the crossbow, and rested it on the barrel. He stood, putting his hands in his pockets. They hadn’t made plans to go home, and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d done so without consulting the other. It felt foreign enough that he wondered if they ever had. 

“I’ve already told Maura,” she shrugged, mirroring his stance. “I was thinking I might head North. We never got there last year and there are people I’d like to meet,” she sighed, getting off track. “I’d like you to come with me, but not as we have.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” He wasn’t entirely sure it was a lie. Her meaning was clear and yet hope was such a dangerous thing. Giving into temptation more so. He’d thought about that path often; the one that would surely lead to ruin. 

“Yes, you do.” Everything about her was a challenge. The wind picked up, and he suddenly realized how her curls had begun to cling to her face and neck, but she stood tall. 

“You can come North with me as my lover, and if not you can ride South alone.” She didn’t wait for a response, and moved away to pull her bolts from the target. He didn’t wait for her, but retreated back to the warmth of the castle to decide if ruin lay North or South of where he stood. 


	19. River

Numair walked along the riverbed, mumbling to himself. He scuffed his foot against a tuft of river-weed, cursing. Three weeks spent on the translation, only to discover the key he’d used was flawed. Lindhall would tease him mercilessly for not checking his sources, and not for the first time. The river-weed fluttered in the current, root system pulling free from it’s sandy bed. He cursed again and knelt. 

He grasped the plant gently, pressing it back into the ground and using his gift to repair the damage he’d caused. “I’m sorry, friend. That wasn’t very kind of me.” 

He watched black fire sparkle around the weed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His thoughts turned back to the lexicon and where his source could flawed as a school of darters came to inspect his handy-work. 

Something larger moved to his left and he turned to see an otter inspecting him with a cocked head. Numair sighed; perhaps it would be best to eat his pride as just ask Lindhall for help. The otter circled around him; looping around him but not in a playful manner. He watched it, noticing the way it’s head moved back and forth as if it were talking to him. It was unusual to see an otter so close to Corus —they usually nested further North. 

“Oh,” it clicked, “hello, Daine.” He smiled, mildly, and watched her as she turned to hang upside down, head jerking back and forth. It took him another moment to realize she wasn’t talking to him, but scolding him. “Oh, I suppose I forgot to tell you about this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this entry seems confusing, it's because it's based on a mechanic from Tempests and Slaughter, not the OG series.


	20. Closet

“You need a bigger room.  _ Rooms _ , actually. Plural.” He shot a sour look at her door, the frame of which was likely the cause of more head injuries than all of the immortals in the realm put together. 

“This room is plenty big enough, Numair. Not all of us have so much extra of ourselves,” she motioned at him and he ignored her teasing.

“It’s a closet, magelet.”

“It’s a fine dwelling.”

“No, I mean it’s quite literally a closet. It wasn’t meant for someone to live in, and certainly not for years.”

“Onua’s assistants usually sleep in the barracks. It was very generous for them to give me my own quarters.”

“Yes, when _you_ were an assistant.” He couldn’t quite believe he was explaining this again. “You’re the wildmage, Daine. I think your service to the realms has earned you decent rooms, at the very least.”

“Hush, I just need to get rid of some things. Help me sort.” She moved to the chest at the foot of her bed and took a deep breath. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why she looked so nervous but his question was answered when she unlatched the chest with what could only be described as a tiny explosion of fabric. 

“Mithros, how did you get it all in there in the first place?” He plucked a pink cotton dress from the ground and threw it on the bed. 

“Alanna magicked it for me a couple years back,” she sighed, “but even that doesn’t seem to be helping any more. I hate to throw any of them away when I’ve managed not to ruin them but,” she shrugged. 

She pulled out a dove-grey tunic style dress he recognized from her first winter at court. “Surely you’ve grown out of some of these.”

“In height only, I’m afraid,” she replied, looking down at herself with a sour look. He ignored the comment, not sure how to reassure her without crossing lines he shouldn’t even be thinking of. “But yes, Kuri said she would take anything that didn’t fit or wasn’t needed. If it’s too out of style she’ll turn it into something else.” She looked at the mess in front of them, hands on her hips and head cocked. 

“Throw that on the chair over there,” she pointed. “That can be the give pile.” 

They worked together efficiently when they wanted to, taking time to be silly and wayward as they pleased. She was characteristically unsentimental when it came to making decisions and the pile of fabric on the chair grew quickly enough. She kept select pieces in addition to her regular seasonal dresses —a gown from Carthak, and an embroidered cloak gifted to her by Alanna and George among them. He had expressed disappointment when she had tossed a blue dress he was fond of onto the pile and was pleased to see her pull it back out when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

“Oh, looks like Kuri has some more work ahead of her. This one’s not even finished.” He held up an emerald green dress of draped silk. She looked up at him and turned red.

“Oh, no—that’s finished.” 

He looked back at the gown, holding it out in his hands to inspect it. It was missing fabric in areas that he was sure usually required it to be considered finished. Particularly for the dresses he was used to her wearing. He looked back at her, eyebrows raised, and she laughed. 

“Are you  _ blushing _ ?” He knew she was teasing him to distract from her own blush, it was a tactic that often worked. 

“A little,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I want to know where you’ve been going in it,” he muttered, lowering the offending garment. 

She laughed outright at that. “ _ Nowhere _ . Gods, I haven’t been able to work up the nerve.” She stood, wiping dust from her breeches, and shook her head. “I’m afraid I was a little more ambitious than I could handle when it came down to it. Not everyone can handle the most daring fashions,” she mimicked Thayet, a little too well.

He handed it to her, shaking his head. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit, magelet. Looking poorly is the _last_ problem that dress would bring.”

“So I should keep it?” She raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised. “Midsummer?” She held it up to her shoulders and he tried not to imagine what it would look like on her. 

“Absolutely  _ not _ . I said it would look good on you, not that it wouldn’t be trouble.” He rolled his eyes. “Dresses like that attract nothing but mischief and t rouble, and boys that like to  _ make _ mischief and trouble.” 

“You speak from experience?” She flashed an impish grin. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he teased back, mirroring her smile and tweaking her nose. She cocked her head, biting her lip, before tossing the dress back to him. 

“Start a pile on the desk; things to move to the Tower.” 


	21. Lies

The air was thick with the last of summer’s strength that threatened to break into the crispness of fall at any moment. Occasionally, a breeze wafted across the pasture, carrying that promise, before the air settled into a sweet thickness once more. 

They walked back towards her rooms without speaking. The fireflies that filled the field at the height of summer were gone, but the chirping of crickets still fought off the silence. The gaps in their conversation were usually comfortable, but she had seemed distracted that night. For longer than that, truth be told. They would settle into a comfortable banter only for something to happen — something outside of his perception, but clear to her —and she would fall silent with a flash of  _ something _ that disappeared before he could identify it. 

Several times he had been close to asking her what was going on—if something had happened, if he had done something—but each time he faltered. Things felt tenuous in a way he couldn’t explain. Like something more significant than a season was ending. 

They reached her room and another breeze stirred around them, lingering in the doorway as they did. It felt like an intrusion on an otherwise private moment. The thought occurred to him that he wanted to be the only thing to ever linger in her doorway and he pushed it away only to make room for the thought that he wanted to be the only one to go _through_ it. He centered himself, with as much effort as it had taken him to turn men into trees, and just like that he was standing with his friend and the breeze was nothing but a minor relief. 

She turned, leaning against the door-frame, and looked up at him. He knew her enough to know something was on her mind. He cocked his head, hands planted in his pockets. She knew him enough to know an invitation without words. 

“Numair, when I first came to Tortall you promised you’d never lie to me.” She said it matter-of-factly, like so many things, and he wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question. Another possibility occurred to him: an accusation. 

“And I haven’t.” He stood straighter, brow knitted. Forgotten to tell her the occasional bit of useful information, sure, but he had always been honest with her. She studied him, letting his unease stretch out between them. 

“Is that still true?” She sidestepped his response.

“Of course.” 

“Promise?” She held out her hand and extended her pinky to him—a practice he had taught her years earlier. A silly one and one that he enjoyed. 

He looped his pinky with her own, meeting her gaze. “I promise.” 

She tugged at his hand, forcing him to step forward and place his free hand on the frame to maintain his balance, pulling him closer so that he leaned over her in the doorway.  Her chin tilted and she looked up at him. 

“Then tell me you don’t want to kiss me right now.”


	22. Venom

Numair’s Sirajit was rusty, to say the least. Some might say non-existent. He kept his hands raised and in clear sight as he fumbled his way through what he hoped was a plea for peaceful resolution. He didn’t know what they said in response.

What he did know was that the guards blade was against her neck, his large hand grasping her chin and holding it against his chest. Chestnut brown against sirajit blue. Sharp steel against smooth skin. Blue-grey eyes holding his. Those things he understood. 

“ _Stäp, plēz_.” The inflection, at least, he remembered well enough. He stepped forward, bare foot sliding against sand-scattered stone. The man in front spoke, fast and harsh, and Numair struggled to garner meaning. Trespass. Girl. Palms, no, _river_. A misunderstanding, he hoped. One he could de-escalate if the words would come to him. He focused on the sound of the mans voice, and the look in her eyes—trying to tell her without words that he would take care of her. 

A breeze, or the semblance of one, slithered through the breezeway and scattered sand across his foot. Still, the man spoke. Siraj; that was easy. Carthak; easy and never good. Kaddar; interesting. Crops. Cattle. Rain. Gods, that knife...

The man brandished an ornate dagger as he spoke, and the light reflecting off of it bounced against the pillars surrounding them. Numair stayed steady on his friend. Beasts. Healer. Rain, again. 

Whatever meaning he had been finding seemed to slip through his fingers. He licked his lips and felt the sweat drip down his brow. More sand swept over his feet and he wished a breeze had accompanied it. The man was repeating himself now, his voice rising. Suddenly, two pieces of the puzzle clicked. Not beasts. Not healer. Wildmage. They had no word for her, but they knew her. That was bad. This wasn’t a mistake—they were known here. They were enemies. For what, he couldn’t discern. It didn’t matter, he would make sure they both walked out of this place. 

The man shouted, his words stunted with emphasis, and brandished the dagger at Daine. The light blinded Numair and he blinked, his gaze breaking with hers for the first time. He caught it again, and willed himself to keep composure. He had been so focused on trying to understand their language that he hadn’t tried to understand hers—what he saw in her eyes. There hadn’t been fear. He wouldn’t have known what to call it before; now he knew it was triumph. 

The break between them had been long enough for him to see that it wasn’t sand that had slid against him, but scales. All around them, snakes pooled across the floor to surround the men. White, brown, black, and green all coiled and ready to strike.


	23. Goodbye

The fanfare upon their departure was decidedly less grand. A handful of cats —it was always cats—had ignored her request to say goodbye from afar and languished among the handful of humans who had come to see them off. Kaddar—to his advisors dismay, she was sure—and the bankiju waved at her from the docks. Slaves who were now free people waved goodbye to their loved ones who had decided to start a new life in the north. Varice stood near the back of the group, curls pinned simply but stylishly, but did not wave. 

“I’m surprised she came,” Numair settled next to her, mirroring her pose as he leaned against the rail. Wind whipped around him, strands of hair flying free from his horsetail. He already looked a little green. 

She turned to him, surprised. He hadn’t so much as mentioned the woman’s name to her in a way that acknowledged her significance to him. Perhaps he had just been waiting for a good time. Perhaps she was overthinking.

“Did you ask her to come with you?” She wasn’t sure she should ask, but didn’t know if she’d get another chance. 

He laughed, “No, magelet, we—” he turned to her and she saw him realize her meaning. “You mean back then.” Any laughter was gone. “No. Not then either.”

“Why not?” 

He opened his mouth and closed it again. When she thought he may not answer he clasped his hands and took a deep breath, “I could give you a lot of answers, but at the end of the day I suppose I knew she wouldn’t come. Not asking in the first place seemed,” he sighed, “kinder to both of us.”

“But you loved each other?” She wondered if she would know what line not to cross before it was behind her. 

“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

“Then why would she have stayed anyway?”

“It’s a lot to ask, Daine.” He shook his head and turned back to shore. Only the bankiju and one particularly fat cat remained; the rest were retreating up the steps. She couldn’t see Varice. 

“Love’s a lot to give up.”

“But to leave her friends, her position, her country. Her entire life.” He sighed again. “Even if you loved someone, Daine, would you turn your back on Tortall? If someone asked you to walk away from the life you’ve built?”

She turned away, feeling the spray of the sea as they gained speed. “I understand what you’re saying. I love my home but,” she swallowed, pushing herself back from the rail. She turned and placed a hand on his shoulder as she moved away, “I’d go with you if you needed me.” 


	24. Swing

“Too slow!” Alanna grinned as she swung her staff and it landed squarely on his arm. He winced, moving away, and cast a fowl towards the Lioness. “How will you fight off an attacker if you handle a weapon like it’s made of butter?”

“Gosh, Alanna, you’re right. It’s too bad I don’t have anything else at my disposal, like the  _ gift _ .” He tossed his staff to the ground and leaned forward, bracing himself against his knees to catch his breath. Dane laughed and looked up to wink at her. Her breathing was nearly as ragged, and he could see where her curls had begun to cling to the sweat on her neck. 

“And when you’re drained? What then?” Alanna twirled her staff in one hand, barely a hair out of place. 

“Alanna if I’m drained I won’t be able to lift a sword, let alone  _ fight _ someone.” He stood with a sigh. “I’ll wait for Daine to save me. That’s why Their Majesties employ her, right?” 

Daine had moved to his side and nudged him, “I can’t always be there with the rate  _ you _ find trouble.” 

“That’s rich, coming from you.” He scowled when Alanna motioned for him to pick up his staff. “On second thought, I’ll just roll over and ask them to make it quick. It’s probably the only way I’ll be able to retire.” 

“It’s just a little self-defense, Numair. You’re valuable to the crown and it’s high-time you learned some,” Alanna admonished him with a shrug, “at least until we can find someone more pleasant to take your place.” 

“I think it’s Daine’s turn.” He waived her off.

“To wallop you?”

“So much abuse,” he clutched his hand to his chest. Sarge’s booming shout reached them through the thicket from where the rider’s were being put through their own paces with sparring practice. 

“Ah, more promising students wait.” Alanna turned back to them, raising an eyebrow at Numair’s expression. “Oh no, you aren’t off the hook. The two of you can practice grappling until I’m back.” She was already moving away through the bushes.

Numair sighed and turned to Daine. “Do we have to?”

“She’s not wrong. It would do us good.” Daine smirked, and moved to stand opposite him in the clearing. The rider could be heard in the distance, but he had insisted on a secluded spot where no one could see him get thrashed by his friends. There was a reason he had become a mage and not a knight; several of them, in fact. 

“But my hair,” he groaned, smiling at the laugh it earned. 

“Already ruined.” She spread her feet apart, bracing herself, and raised an eyebrow. He mirrored her, albeit taking up a somewhat wider footprint, and felt his body groan in protest. He was mentally calculating how many days he still had to survive in the saddle when she struck, wrapping herself around his stomach and trying to sweep his feet from under him. She nearly succeeded, but he caught himself and wrapped his arms around her to take them both to the ground. They rolled and he planted his legs to stop their momentum and trap her beneath him. 

“Hey, you learned something,” she grinned up at him, arms held above her head and panting. 

“I guess so.” He had surprised himself, truth be told. 

“Embarrassing for me, though,” she muttered.

“Oh, just wait,” he grinned. She had barely had time to cast a questioning look when he released his grip on her wrists and began to tickle her ribs. She squirmed, laughing, and pushing against his weight. “It’s not nice to make fun of people, magelet,” he laughed. 

Suddenly, he felt the world tilt as she wrapped her legs around his waist and heaved them over. She brought them to a mirror image of before, her hands pressing his own into the soil. Where he had been able to use his size to hover over her, however, she was straddling his hips. He struggled to catch his breath. 

“You’re not supposed to let down your guard,” she breathed heavily, still smiling and hair half-pulled from its fastening. 

“Are you going to punish me now?” He responded before he thought of the implication; just as realization of the way he could feel her body against his own began to sink in. If he weren’t so distracted he might have thought to take the words back. 

Instead, he couldn't help but focus on the way her hands grasped his own and the way her thighs nestled around his hips. How something in her expression had changed at his words —a small shift but noticeable. From playful to excited. Predatory, even. He shivered, acutely feeling where else their bodies touched. 

She shifted and he thought she would get up, but she leaned forward instead. It was so slight he wasn’t sure if someone watching would notice, but he could feel it. Her body tensed, from her grip on his hands to where she straddled him. “And how should I do that?” 

He swallowed as her exhalation fell across him. He wondered if he was imagining the huskiness in her voice—wishful thinking, perhaps—and the way she pressed into him. Her motives might surely have been a figment, but when she shifted again he knew the closeness wasn’t. If he didn’t push her away he would embarrass himself, if he hadn’t already. And yet, one traitorous thought nagged at him as he watched more curls fall to frame her face—what if she liked it? 

He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and useless. She leaned forward, and he would have thought he’d truly lost his mind if it hadn’t been for her curls pooling against the fabric of his shirt. 

Alanna’s voice called out, close enough that Daine sprung up and moved across the clearing. Numair, still dazed and in no condition to be seen prone, pulled himself to a seated position. 

Alanna’s fiery head poked through the shrubbery and she clicked her tongue at him, “Surely she didn’t beat you that badly.” 


	25. Bed

A late-spring storm. One room at the inn. Floorboards that let drafts sift through them as much as easily as they creaked underfoot. Her incessant stubbornness. Or the pout of her bottom lip, if he were being honest. 

The fire dwindled and he thought of adding another log, but that would involve crawling out from under their pile of blankets. Instead he pulled them higher over his shoulders. She murmured when he shifted and he turned his head. All he could see of her were her curls tumbling out from underneath a worn, wool blanket and the tips of her fingers. 

He settled in, exhaling softly. His hand came to rest in a mirror-image of hers. In the fading glow of the fire he could see how little distance separated them, despite his best efforts. All he had to do was close the gap—he reached for her hand but caught himself with a sigh. 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and willing sleep to take him. It nearly had when he felt her hand cover his own. 


	26. Blood

He’d need supplies. And time. That, probably, more than anything. Tristan was a tree and now and somewhere in the world, _anywhere_ in the world, a tree was a man. That was his fault. His responsibility. 

He would need to check his records—if he was lucky the equivalent exchange laws means that it would be the same species of tree. That would narrow his search field considerably. Luck, however, had been in short supply of late. 

It had been rash. Giving a life to something—now _someone_ —who never asked for it. Who could never be prepared for it. Someone set up to fail from the beginning. By him. He had no business granting life. 

Or taking it away, surely. But he looked at her now—deep in conversation with a pine marten that had decided to spend the morning’s journey with them—and he could see the swelling along her temple and the cut that had stained her face red. He could see Tristan extending his hand, intent to spill more of it. All of it. 

He’d do it again. 


	27. Thunder

“I think you crushed that young man.”

She laughed, “he’ll get over it.”

“He wasn’t the last who wanted a place on your dance card, either.”

“I don’t have a _card_ ,” she rolled her eyes at him but still smiled. 

“You may want to reconsider that.” He tugged at the collar of his robe, loosening it now that they were away from the prying eyes of the courtiers. 

The music wafting down the corridor faded as they moved away from the festivities. In its absence, rolling thunder could be heard from far away. 

“You’re too silly for words tonight.”

“You should have stayed. The night is young and so are you—you could be dancing until dawn.”

“I was tired of dancing.”

“I thought you liked to dance.”

“I do, sometimes. But it gets old.” 

“You should let yourself have more fun.”

“Are you the pot or the kettle?”

“What?” He shoved his hands into his pockets as they crossed a breezeway. The air stirred with the telltale crispness of an incoming storm. 

“You weren’t exactly the belle of the ball, Numair.”

“I’m _old_. It’s time for me to be tucked into bed with a hot water bottle.”

“Too silly for words.”

“If I danced any more I could _break a hip_ ,” he clutched his hand to his chest in mock horror. 

“ _Numair_ ,” she laughed, nudging him with her elbow. 

“I’m just saying, you should allow yourself some fun.”

“Fine,” she turned to him and held out her hands. “One more dance.” 

He hesitated, taken aback, before bowing dramatically. “If my lady wishes.” 

She curtsied, giggling and he grasped her hand in his own, resting his other on her waist, and stepped backwards. He kept the steps simple and she followed easily. He realized that he hadn’t danced with her in a long time and there was a grace to her movements, to the way she moved with him, that he hadn’t anticipated. 

When the wind moved around them just right music could be heard, but in its absence thunder rolled. They kept tempo to it—steady, slow, building to something that was either miles away or just above them, waiting to strike. 

The world lit up, for less than a breath, and he released his grasp on her. There was static in the air, and he could feel it crackle as he pulled away from her. 

“You’d better get back or you’ll get caught in the rain,” he turned, looking out over the grounds. It was too dark to see anything but the flickering of the lanterns across the rampart. 

“Too late,” her head was cocked, listening to something he could never hear, when he looked back at her. “Rain will be there before I am.” 

“I could try a shield; it might hold long enough,” he murmured, urging her to walk with him. He could feel droplets of water striking him, leaving a chill in their wake. 

She grabbed his sleeve and he turned to her. “I want to stay with you.” It was a simple statement; confident and centered. 

“I don’t think it will let up soon—”

“I know.”

“Oh,” he faltered. “Daine—” Something just above them then. 

She closed the distance between them, looking up at him and sliding her hand around his wrist. “I’m tired of dancing, Numair. I’m out of steps.” When he didn’t answer she brought a hand to his face, stroking his cheek and forcing him to meet her gaze. “Aren’t you?”

He swallowed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers. Rain fell from the roof above in sheets. 

“Yes.” 


	28. Parade

Each year, in late spring, Tyra came alive in celebration. Gondola’s draped in blooming flowers and bejeweled women lazed their way up and down the canals. Streamers fluttered in the breeze from every balcony and lamppost. Revelers took to the streets at all hours, dressed in their best. The young and the available donned masks of animals and mythical beasts —guises under which they could fall freely in and out of love as often as they wanted. For a few days, anyway. 

There was still etiquette to be observed, to be sure. Discretion was the better part of valor. Everyone was allowed to be a stranger, if they wanted to be. In the end, it was another courtly dance. A series of steps to be followed, and if you danced well you may be rewarded with a kiss when the world became quiet.

At Midsummer in the Eastern Lands it was said that a maiden could look into a pool of water to see the face of her true love. During Carnival, it was the rule of three to have unto thee. Should a pair of masked strangers pass each other under the cover of darkness, each on their own, the man should call out, “Hark, fair traveler!” 

A response of, “miles to go yet, wanderer” was a welcomed one. 

Should a pair happen to meet thrice it was considered a boon. Boons can be declined, however, and many a meeting has been met with a call of, “‘tis a dark night, wanderer, and the road waits.” 

He had explained the custom to her, blushing as he tried to sidestep the baser implications. His family spoke highly of the festivities and he had always wanted to go. So when the opportunity arose they set to the east and joined the glittering crowds. 

A week of decadent food and tantalizing sights has passed. Afternoons passing plates of candied dates with his siblings as they floated down the canals, evenings wandering on their own among fire dancers and jesters, and sunrises spent on the beaches outside of the city—just the two of them and whatever new people she had found to keep them company. 

They always seemed to lose sight of one another when the sun fell, and yet in the deep parts of the night they would find each other again. Near the canals, in the square, underneath the statue of Mithros in his brilliant, gold regalia—it was never planned but it always happened. From there they would slip away, greet the dawn together, and then retire to their own rooms to capture a little of the sleep they had forsaken the night prior. 

He saw her first—copper wolf’s mask glinting beneath the lamplight as she cut through a garden. The lantern lighting was that night. High above the city they rose one after one, like stars caught eavesdropping. 

He picked up his pace to catch her when a voice cut across the garden. 

“Hark, fair traveler!” A tall, lithe man with sandy hair and an onyx mask was descending the steps that led to the temples above. 

She looked up and called back, “Well met, wanderer.” 

He stopped, recognizing the invitation. He had never received one, but was familiar enough with the custom—the one he had taught her. He watched as she lifted her mask and tilted her head back, accepting the man’s kiss that was more than polite. He backed away, stepping softly so as not to disturb the strangers sinking into the shadows of the garden. 


	29. Ladder

“There you are,” he hoisted himself up the last rung of the ladder and onto the roof of the inn. 

Daine looked up, surprised. 

“I didn’t know you were looking for me.”

“I knocked on your door.”

“You did?” Something flickered in her expression and he flushed, realizing the hour. The soft-blue of impending dawn washed over her, almost a perfect match to the gauzy gown bunched above her knees. Her hair was falling in waves from the fastenings that had failed hours ago. 

He faltered, clearing his throat as he sat next to her. “I don’t think I realized how late it was.” He pulled at his collar, loosening the ties of his silk shirt. “Or early.” 

“Seems like the night got away from everyone.” She leaned back on her hands, legs stretched out and knees bent in front of her. Her skirts slid higher on her thighs, all cool-blue skin, and it was clear she hadn’t bothered with stockings. She always complained that she couldn’t wear them once without getting runs. Her slippers were nowhere to be seen. 

“I’m surprised you’re alone.” He looked around for the telltale sign of any of the people, and found none. A rare sight.

When he met her eyes he saw the question, and understood the implication of his words. He opened his mouth to explain, but she understood without him needing to. 

“The bats have roosted, and the cats have yet to rise.”

“Ah. And so, the word is quiet.”

“For a moment.” 

He tapped his finger against the roof, feeling the grain of the shingles beneath his touch. Below, the last of the revelers could be seen creeping home alone or in pairs. In the distance the first promises of the new day were creeping above the mountains. 

“I’m surprised you’re alone.” She spoke but didn’t look at him. He studied her, making sure he understood the implication. There was little room for misunderstanding. 

He sighed, “I’m with exactly who I want to be.” He hadn’t realized he’d been practicing this skill —telling the truth to making sure it stayed hidden in plain sight. She sighed but didn’t answer. 

From their vantage point, they watched the sunrise mount the horizon and creep across the valley. The earliest of the birds began to sing, and soon the cats would wake. From there the rest of the world would come to life. He wasn’t ready. He wanted to stay in that brief, quiet moment a while longer. Where it was just the two of them. 

As if she knew his thoughts she reached over, and placed her hand on his. He grasped it, tighter than he could pass off as casual affection, and lifted it to his lips to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. 

She leaned against his shoulder and her curls fell across his neck in waves. He leaned into the touch, pressing his cheek into the top of her head. He tried to remember if he’d ever let such physical intimacy linger between them. He wasn’t sure he ever had, not in this way. He wanted it too badly. 

The sunlight swept forward, washing everything in gold. A cock crowed somewhere below, and kitchen maids were stumbling, bleary-eyed, towards the well in the town-square. She pulled her feet up under her as dawn reached the roof, trying to stay in the pre-dawn and sitting up straight. 

“I think I need to get some sleep.”

“Of course,” he swallowed and watched her back off the roof. She clung to the ladder, pausing.

“I’m glad you knocked on my door,” she bit her lip, “but you don’t have to; it’s open.” 

He blinked against the sunlight framing her and licked his lips. “Alright.” 

She nodded and was gone. He leaned forward, eyes adjusting in the light of a new day. 


	30. Fire

The sounds of Beltane—the music, the cheers, the rustling of lovers creeping through the wood—were fading behind him but he could see light ahead. When he entered the clearing it was empty save for the embers, waiting like a forgotten promise. When he looked up she was standing across from him. A mirage, surely. A trick of light. Had he had more than one drink?

But then she walked towards him and her laughter was too clear to be anything but real.

“You’re supposed to jump them _with_ someone, Numair.” Her hair was loose, the waning light of the coals bronzing them. She always looked good in copper.

“It was like this when I got here,” he reached out and tweaked her nose.

She looked down to where a stray coal lay at their feet, singing the grass black. “This is how forest fires start.”

He sighed, looking around them. Anyone who may have once laid claim was surely otherwise occupied by now. “We should put it out,” he raised his hand and black fire appeared.

“Wait,” she stopped him, sliding her hand into his own. “What if no one’s jumped over them? Bad luck, and all.”

He faltered, suddenly very aware of his own breathing and had his heartbeat always been this loud? He searched for a response—a joke, a sidestep, anything—but then she was pulling him forward, and they were picking up speed, and they were leaping with the heat below them nearly as hot as where her hand grasped his.

_This is how forest fires start._


	31. Dawn

“Are you alright?” 

Daine dropped her key, startled, when Numair appeared at his own doorway. They were rooming next to each other, doors both tucked into a far corner of the visitors wing. 

“Did something happen?” She picked up the key, looking up at him. Early dawn light was sifting through the breezeway and the early-birds were beginning to chip, but he looked far from rested. His shirt, half-tucked into his breeches, was rumpled. His eyes were tired in a way she had seen plenty of times; always after a sleepless night spent hovering over some arcane tome. 

“No,” he swallowed, looking her up and down. “You didn’t come back last night. I was worried something had happened.”

“Oh,” she blinked, taken aback. “No; I’m fine.”

He gave her an odd look, glancing down the hall before leaning in, “it’s just —we’re in a foreign kingdom. You never know what could happen.” 

She laughed at this, “Numair, if this was like Carthak, trust me when I’d say you would know if something were wrong. I wasn’t exactly subtle, was I?” 

That earned a smile, albeit a small one. “I suppose not.” He stood straight again, but still hesitated. “It there’s anything that I should know, though—”

She sighed and leaned against her door-frame, crossing her arms across her chest. She took her time, making her decision, before speaking, “There isn’t anything you need to know, but you’re right: I didn’t come back to my own rooms last night.” 

He cocked his head, bemused, and she pressed on, “I was with someone.” This was a delicate moment, she knew, but for some reason it felt like one that was also overdue. 

“Oh,” he replied so quietly she saw it more than heard it. He stood straighter and placed his hands in his pockets. “I hadn’t realized—” he faltered.

“Realized what?” She cocked her head; that she took lovers? 

“That you had met someone special,” he shrugged and looked at his feet. 

“Ah,” it was her turn to stumble. She suddenly felt the need to balance being forthright and phrasing her words delicately. No need to be cruel, should someone overhear. In the end, that had never been her strength. “Not particularly, to be honest.” 

“But,” he shook his head, obviously confused, before seeming to think better of it. He was smart enough to know to avoid implications he didn’t mean. 

She laughed, softly, understanding his expression anyway. “I’m private, Numair. That doesn’t mean I don’t, on occasion, enjoy the company of men.” 

“Of course, I just never—” he swallowed. “You’ve never mentioned anything before.” She could see him struggling, not so dissimilar from when he discovered that he had mistranslated something or missed a volume in some collection. Frustration at discovering he didn’t know the whole truth.

“You never asked,” she hadn’t meant it to be so pointed, but it was. Two possible meanings. One a lack of inquiry, the other a lack of action—and opportunity. She’d let him choose which one to take from her words. 

When he didn’t answer, she smiled at him and unlocked her door, “I’m going to take a bath; you’re welcome to join me for breakfast afterwards, if you’d like.” 

With that she slipped into her own room, leaving him in the hall. Someday, he would have to choose to knock or accept that the door may close forever. But not yet. 


	32. Moon

They’d shared a midnight swim before —on the quiet nights when the tide was gentle. Always under the cover of darkness. Always at her request. A mirthful walk to the shoreline, shy and hurried undressing in their own corners of the world to slip under the waves as quickly as possible. He never had hired another maid, so the only prying eyes would be their own. For the impropriety of it all they were quite polite. 

He wondered if the moon had ever been this full before, though. Everything seemed so bright, and sharp. Like he’d developed a new sense. Or lost one—it was so  _ quiet _ . There had been no teasing as they scaled the slope from his tower. Just the soft padding of his bare feet as they followed hers. The waves seemed far away. 

And now they stood at their own corners of the world, but neither one turned away. He couldn’t; her eyes on his kept him paralyzed as she slowly, and very deliberately, undressed. For all of the unspoken things that had grown between them these last years, she was clear now. She wanted him to watch. And, he licked his lips, to touch. To taste. All the senses. 

He followed her lead—always following—and stripped away the last of his defenses. 


	33. Necklace

“I think this would look lovely on her —what do you think?”

Numair blinked at his companion, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Tamalt had been in Corus for the better part of two months now, with what Numair  _ thought _ was a singular aim of preparing for the impending summit at the City of the Gods. It seemed, however, that other priorities had found a way to creep in. 

“Daine?” Perhaps he was mistaken.

“Of course,” Tamalt laughed, “who else.” 

Damn. 

The necklace was nothing short of exquisite. Finely worked silver, with an emerald that caught and absorbed the light in equal turns. Beautiful.  _ Expensive _ . Certainly not a gift a man who was not receiving certain benefits would purchase for a woman—besides himself, of course. 

“Not really, actually,” he shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly done with the excursion. Tamalt looked back at the piece, brow furrowed, and regarded it with the same consternation that Numair regarding the other mage with. Powerful, wealthy, charming. Numair scowled; just about the same age as he was. He gritted his teeth and tempered his rising annoyance, though if it was at the threat of this man taking advantage of his friend or threat of a missed opportunity he wasn’t sure. 

“Are you sure?” Tamalt turned back to him with a smile, as if Numair was playing a joke on him. 

Sighing, he shook his head, “It’s lovely but no, she won’t wear it. That silver claw? It never comes off. And she doesn’t wear bracelets or rings on account of how often he has a bow in hand. She prefers earrings.”

So be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, this entry is 100% fanfic of a fanfic. Tamalt is from Sanctuary by Magda Jan Brown, which can be found on ffnet and is absolutely magical right up to the point that it was discontinued.


	34. Papercut

“Ow,” she hissed and he looked up from his notes.

“Are you alright?” 

“Just a papercut,” she waved him off but he was already on his feet. 

“Let me see,” he took the book from her hand, intent on inspecting her injury, and was surprised when she grabbed for it. Interest piqued, he took a closer look to find that she was not reading _Foist’s Compendium of Vertebrates_ , as he had thought, but had slid the dust jacket over another book entirely. 

“ _Lilac in Winter_ _?_ ” He grinned, holding the book out of reach. 

“Numair,” she groaned, turning red. 

“Daine, I had no idea you were such a romantic.” He couldn’t help but tease her. Of all the women he knew she might be the last he expected to wile away their hours with romance novels. Well, Onua might be the last. Daine was a close second, though. 

“You don’t know _everything_ about me.” She scowled, holding out her hand, and he returned the book to her. 

“So you read these often?” He raised an eyebrow when she turned even redder than before.

“Not _all_ the time. Besides, Onua said this is a classic,” she grumbled and stuffed the offending tome into her bag. Well, wrong on both counts then. 

“It is, actually.” She cast him a sharp look and he shrugged, “I’ve read it.”

“And here you are, teasing _me_!”

“Well, I wouldn’t boast it as one of my greatest accomplishments. It’s decent enough, for the genre. Sappy, angsty—star-crossed lovers. You know the drill.” Her expression changed to something he couldn’t place, and so he brushed it aside. If he remembered correctly, it was actually a very sad but very well-written book. The young lovers never do end up finding the right time. “Let me know what you think.”

A week later, he was interrupted by knocking at his door. The hour was late, and the pounding frantic—and so it was with a sinking feeling he answered it. Immortals attack, siege, gods above—another war; his mind cycled through all of the things that were probably going wrong at that very moment when he opened the door to find Daine. She looked small; eyes wide, face pale, curls sticking to her face his first clue that it must be raining. 

He opened his mouth to speak, reaching out to her, but she held up the book and shook her head, “Numair, I don’t want this to be us.”


	35. Summer

She felt him settle next to her, mirroring her stance and leaning against the banister. Behind them, somber chatter filled the air as the rest of the council dispersed. Everyone was relieved, but tired. She was tired. 

“And just like that,” he sighed, “the wars over.” It was somewhere between a statement and a question. 

“So is summer,” she looked out across the Royal Forest. The leaves hadn’t started turning yet, but she could hear the people preparing all around them. 

Thayet’s voice could be heard from within the chambers; too quiet to make out the words but the low, clear cadence was unmistakable. A call for her King to return to her and their children, to be sure. So long fighting made such moments all the more precious. Alanna would be riding out in the morning to return to her own family, she knew. She’d agreed to have dinner with the Champion and Myles later in the evening. Funny that so many farewells  _ followed _ the war. 

“What now?” She asked, speaking to no one. But he was there. He was always there when she needed him, if not always when she wanted him. Their time in the Realms had changed something; a shift in how they stood in relation to one another. The space between them felt different —filled with something she couldn’t place. Like the heat she saw in his eyes. Something charged and dangerous, and slippery—gone before she could identify it but still there, just beneath the surface. 

Their time in the Realms had changed something, but she found herself wondering if it had changed them enough? Were there still rises to conquer? Still a horizon to chase? 

Was it just the stirring of a breeze before the changing of a season?

“Still time before dinner,” he was fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. “We have some time before we have to head down.”

“No, I mean—”she hesitated. How could she chase a horizon when she didn’t know where due north was? Sunny day, dark of night; either way, there were no stars to guide her…

“Oh,” his voice was soft. She could practically  _ hear _ him thinking. The breeze picked up and she watched a leaf, dried and yellowed, skitter across the garden patio below. So it had started after all…

He sighed, “we go on as we did before, I suppose.” 

She didn’t respond and the hesitance in his voice was obvious when he next spoke. “We’ve been given leave. We could go home, to the tower,” his hand moved towards hers—so slight she wouldn’t have seen it had she not been looking—but he didn’t touch her. 

She sighed, “let’s leave soon.” She pushed away from the banister, retreating through the gardens below. 


	36. Hospital

“Ah, Numair,” Duke Baird greeted the mage, who bowed in greeting, and ushered him into the wing. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Numair smiled, but looked confused. “Have I been dipping into your stores too often?” He laughed. “Your staff could just tell me  _ no _ —”

The Duke stopped, abruptly, and turned to the other man. “Has no one told you?” 

“Told me what?” Their confusion was equally matched. 

“Daine; she’s here. She was brought in two days ago. Unicorn—” He tried to elaborate, but the mage had already pushed his way into the wing. 


	37. Work

“You said you were decent,” he closed the door behind him, noting that he should be on the other side of it. 

“No, you _asked_ if I was decent and I said ' _mmmm_ ’,” she repeated the non-committal noise, not bothering to look up at her friend. Instead, the woman was very content to remain basking in the warm bathwater. Her head was tilted back, neck and clavicle bared, eyes closed. Her knees emerged from the surface of the water, twisted so they rested against the side of the basin.

“You could have said you needed a moment,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“The thing is that I _don’t_ need a moment,” she smirked. “I don’t plan on leaving this tub for a _very_ long time, and you are very intent on going over that report before you retire which I assume will be soon.” She shrugged, “Now we compromise.” 

“Daine,” he sighed, exasperated. “This really isn’t appropriate.”

“Oh, hush. There are bubbles.” She waved the goblet perched between the tips of her fingers at him, dismissing his concerns.

“There were?” He trailed off, eyes following the goblet.

Daine shrugged again, the motion pulling the tops of her breasts from the water. “You’ve seen me naked more times than I can count.”

“Not like—” he faltered, shifting uncomfortably. “Setting and situation matter, magelet.” He chided her, “Would you _please_ dress?”

“No, but you may relay the report if you wish.” She lifted the goblet to her lips, drinking deeply. 

“I know this has been a very trying journey but I would appreciate you meeting me halfway.”

“I already told you this _is_ my compromise,” she peered at him from over the goblet. “I am offering to work on the report matters with you. I understand my determination to embrace some source of enjoyment is vexing to you, but there you have it.”

“Your obstinance, you mean.” He sighed when she shrugged and took another drink instead of replying. “Are you drunk?” 

“Not yet.” She met his eyes, not giving any ground even when he crossed his arms and fixed her with a stare that usually made her rethink her stance. “You’re the one staring,” she raised an eyebrow, pleased with the blush that rapidly spread up his neck as he looked away. He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again, suddenly very fixated on the fire. He recognized a losing battle. 

“Oh hush, I’m just teasing,” she sat up, leaning over the edge of the tub and reaching for the decanter perched on the small stand. She refilled her goblet, placing it on the floor, before filling a second. “Come,” she extended the goblet to her friend, resting her chin on her other arm that lay upon the rim of the tub. 

He hesitated and, just when she thought he may decline, sighed and closed the distance between them to accept the drink. As he brought the goblet to his lips she took up her own and leaned back again so that her elbows rested on the rim, her breasts barely submerged. She lifted her goblet in a small toast and he returned the motion. He broke eye contact and his gaze moved down her form as he raised the wine to his lips. Swallowing hard, the dry liquid sharp on his tongue, he met her eyes once more. She was still looking at him, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. Something between them lay heavy in the air—a challenge, or an invitation. Both, perhaps. 

Numair sighed, taking another swig, and sat on the floor so that his back rested against the tub and he was facing away from her, disconnecting from the unexplored territory between them.

“News from Jon,” he unrolled the parchment and Daine shifted to hear him better, the soft sloshing of water and the gentle rush of air against the back of his neck the only indication of the movement.


End file.
